


The Beginning of Something

by HopefulNebula



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst, Between Episodes, Canon Compliant, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/pseuds/HopefulNebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka and H.G. Wells and the surprising depth of their relationship, from the end of "Vendetta" to just before "Buried."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a sequel to [The Gift](http://archiveofourown.org/works/111999), but both pieces stand alone.

It was best, they decided, to give Artie some space before getting H.G. set up at Leena's, so they printed a copy of the Manual for her to read in the meantime.

"You know," Myka said, "I bet you could get Artie to like you if you read this out loud to Pete."

"Fat chance," Pete replied.

"He's been here for how long and he still hasn't read it?" H.G. asked, before Myka could retort. "And he hasn't been killed yet? Or worse, gotten _you_ killed?"

"Well, I _did_ die that one time," Pete said. "I got better." H.G. wondered whether he was quoting someone or just mocking her accent, but Pete continued before she could ask. "Which reminds me. Someone's gonna have to teach you CPR if you're gonna be working here."

H.G. looked confused. Though she'd learned a lot in the few weeks since rejoining the world of the un-bronzed, this was obviously new to her.

"Cardiopulmonary ressuscitation," Myka explained. "It's a first aid technique that combines chest compressions and rescue breathing. It doesn't always work, but Pete's right. Around here you need to know it."

"And I vote for you to teach her," Pete said to Myka.

"Pig," Myka replied, sticking her tongue out.

"Oh, look, the printer is finished," H.G. said, perhaps a little too loudly. "Fifteen hundred and thirty-six pages in twenty-two and a half minutes. How is that even possible on this machine? I've... I've printed things out before, on computers, and they couldn't do this."

"Claudia was sick of this thing only doing a page a minute, so she fixed it up. And when Claudia fixes something around here, you don't ask how she did it."

H.G. smiled, the first real time she had done so since Artie refused to shake her hand. "I knew I liked her."

"So," Myka said, "you've got to be pretty tired. Let's get you set up at Leena's."

\---

"I'm surprised Artie is allowing this," Leena said as she made the bed in the fourth room.

"Technically, he isn't," Pete replied.

Leena's face froze for half a second. "Oh. _Oh_. Well, he'll come around eventually."

"Artie hates _everybody_ at first," Claudia said. "I kidnapped him last year and he forgave me. Of course, he left me handcuffed to a stranger's oven, but he forgave me."

H.G. made another face at that, but decided to say nothing.

"Anyway, the bathroom's the second door on the left as you leave the room. The green towels are for you to use. Just let me know if you need anything. If it's in the fridge or the pantry and it doesn't have somebody's name on it, feel free to eat it."

"Thank you for -- for your hospitality," H.G. said. "Thank you for everything."

If anyone noticed that H.G. had meant that last sentence for Myka, they had the grace not to say anything about it.

The five of them stayed and talked for a few minutes, until one by one they started to make their exits. Eventually, Myka and H.G. were left together for the first time since the bottling plant.

"So," Myka said. "I, uh -- I have something to lend you. It's in my room."

H.G. blinked, nodded and followed Myka as she left.

Myka's room felt more like home than anywhere H.G. had been since being turned to bronze. It was full of books and blankets and a cage with-- "Is that a _ferret_?"

"Yeah. I got him from a wishing kettle my first day here. His name is Pete."

"I can see why," H.G. laughed.

"Anyway," Myka said, turning to the bookshelf. "I want you to know you can read any of these whenever you want."

H.G. stepped closer to inspect the shelf. Most of the books looked old; most of them were hardcover. She was pleasantly surprised to recognize many of the authors' names. And there was half a shelf full of her own books.

"You certainly have a lot of my work," she said.

"You were an excellent writer. Are. You are an excellent writer. My dad would read to me from _The Time Machine_ when I was a kid." She looked at H.G. in time to be warmed by her smile. "But really, I wanted to give you this." Myka bent down to one of her nonfiction shelves, pulled out a large softcover book, and handed it to H.G.

"_The Twentieth Century in Twenty Minutes_?"

"I figured it might help you catch up on things."

H.G. placed her free hand on Myka's shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Thank you," she said, and Myka knew that it was the most sincere thing H.G. had ever said to her. "And you can call me Helena if you want to." And then her lips were on Myka's cheek, just for a second, and before Myka could process what had just happened, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

The day after H.G. Wells unpacked what few belongings she had and began to settle into her new room at Leena's, nothing happened. Artie rather conspicuously didn't come over to bake his Sunday batch of cookies, Leena cooked brunch and left for the Warehouse, Claudia sequestered herself in her room claiming she needed silence for the class she was working on, Pete left to spend the afternoon in town with Kelly, and Myka sat in the softest of the chairs and set to work on her collection of Victor Hugo's lesser-known works. And Helena had no idea what to do with herself.

At first it was a welcome break from not knowing what would come next. She had all the time she needed, she didn't need to worry about where to sleep or how to explain her lack of modern credentials to the world, and Leena's Belgian waffles had been excellent. But it was _too_ quiet, and not even the book Myka had lent her was any help. So she took a long, hot shower (one of the best examples of progress she could name) and looked at the bookshelf again, in hopes that something had changed.

After a few minutes, she flexed her arms and legs (to prove to herself that she _could_, after her last, hundred-year encounter with too much silence) and noticed something.

All of the books on the shelf were meticulously sorted. They seemed to be kept in order by author's surname, for the most part; the larger books occupied a bottom section; fiction up top; nonfiction, below. Most of the books were hardcover; all were placed exactly. And all the books on this particular shelf had obviously been read at least once.

Except for _The Twentieth Century in Twenty Minutes_.

She had to figure out why, and it would probably be easiest to find it out from the source, so downstairs she went.

"You bought this book for me," she told Myka without prelude.

Myka smiled up from her book. "What makes you think that?"

"It was the only book with paper covers on that part of your shelf. The only one published in the last ten years. The binding's obviously never been bent very far, which if I'm not mistaken, is very hard to do with a book with pages this size if you've spent much time reading it. There aren't any notes in the margins like some of your other books have. And this book doesn't smell like one of yours."

"It doesn't..."

"Smell, yes. You of all people should know what it's like to walk into a room full of books and take a deep breath."

"Of course, but -- you've smelled my books?"

"Well, it was either them or your ferret." Helena made an exaggerated face, and Myka's smile brightened.

"All right, you caught me. I bought it after we met in California. I didn't think I'd have the chance to give it to you, but... I'm glad I did."

"Why did you pick this one?" Helena asked. "Why not one of your own instead?"

"Well, the others are all too in-depth and specific. If there's anything in there you're curious about, I can give you a book about it -- if it's not here, then I can have my parents send it. And of all the more general books I found online, this one seemed like a good primer. It was this or _The Idiot's Guide to the Twentieth Century_, and I wasn't sure how you'd take the title of that one."

And Helena smiled.

"Would you mind taking me in to town? I didn't have much chance to see it when the Regents brought me in yesterday, and I'd like to know my way around," she asked.

"Oh, sure," Myka said, and put her book down. "Pete should be, uh, busy with Kelly for a while, so he'll leave us alone, and Leena's going to be with Artie, so he won't cause a scene even if they run into us. There's not much to do in the town -- it doesn't even really have a name -- but you do need to know your way around. And we could have a late lunch. Have you had Mexican food? Because there's a pretty good Mexican restaurant in town."

"That sounds like a good idea," Helena said, though she'd never to her knowledge had Mexican food. Over the weeks since she'd been unbronzed, she'd played it safe with her food choices.

"You should know one thing: the people in town think we're tax collectors. So if they seem like they hate us, don't take it personally; they just hate what they think we do. And you have the updated Manual, but I'll see if I can get Artie to give you some more modern information about the way things work around here. We talked about first aid training yesterday, and you'll need vaccines and some kind of credentials, and..."

Myka kept talking, but Helena lost track of the actual words as they grabbed their bags and left the bed and breakfast. Hearing the sound of them -- hearing the sound of Myka's voice -- was enough to keep her in the present, enough to tie her to some kind of certainty.

For the first time since she'd stumbled out of the Bronze Sector, Helena felt more confident than not that she would be able to make a home in this world.


	3. Chapter 3

Helena found it almost easy to settle into her new routine. Artie still wouldn't visit town while she was around, but he had one agent at a time doing inventory, and while Helena hadn't asked, she suspected it was so there was always at least one other agent to keep an eye on her.

She didn't mind, much. She'd taken care of most of what she had to do before making contact with Myka in Washington. She just had to remember that, and not get too comfortable despite the temptations her coworkers provided.

But surely there was no harm in eating the breakfast Myka prepared for her every morning. Surely it would be all right for her to watch a movie with Pete, and to let Claudia teach her to use computers (though of course, she wouldn't let on how much she had already figured out). She needed them to trust her; the fact that she was beginning to trust them in return was unanticipated but not unwelcome.

\---

Rebecca St. Clair's funeral was on a Sunday, and not only did Artie give Pete and Myka permission to go, he went with them. The events at the Warehouse had evidently had more of an impact than it had seemed.

She waited at the bed and breakfast until Claudia had left to start fixing the damage they had done to the Warehouse's electrical systems, and then...

What?

That was the problem, really.

She knew what she had planned to do, and why she had to do it. She had started planning it just after Warehouse 12 burned, and while she'd had to make changes to accommodate the different world she lived in, it had gone well so far. She just had one thing left to do. All she had to do was send an e-mail and wait.

She just wasn't sure anymore whether sending the message was the right thing to do.

The sound of tiny claws scratching on the hardwood floor distracted Helena from her internal debate. Pete the ferret had escaped again, and since she was the only human at Leena's, it fell on her to retrieve him. She would have anyway, of course; this had only a little to do with the fact that Pete had taken during the last week to stealing Helena's socks and chewing on them in Myka's laundry hamper. This time, it seemed Pete was more interested in his namesake's room.

He ran faster than Helena did, if only because he had the head start and didn't need the door to be fully open, and by the time she entered Pete's room, she couldn't see him. But he had to be there. She shut the door behind her to prevent any further escapes and knelt on the ground.

"Come here, Pete," she whispered. "Good ferret. Good boy."

Pete stayed wherever he had hidden and didn't make a sound. She'd just have to look for him, then.

She tried the closet first, but if he was in there she couldn't see or hear him. Surprisingly, he wasn't in the pile of clothes in a corner, either, but as she replaced them, she heard more scratching behind her. It sounded like Pete the ferret was behind Pete the human's desk.

So she turned, and before she could bend over again and try to grab the ferret, she saw the photograph.

It was a small photo, in a simple wooden frame that had been hand-painted in bright colors with the words "World's Best Uncle." The picture's subject -- a skinny girl with light brown hair who looked about nine years old -- was grinning up at whoever held the camera and holding her hands out horizontally, palms together, at whoever had taken the picture. She was obviously making a sign of some kind but Helena had no idea what it could mean. It didn't matter.

Helena stared at the little girl in the photograph until her eyes couldn't focus anymore, and still the image was in her brain. She closed her eyes and shook her head, and suddenly there was a ferret standing at her feet, staring up at her and expecting to be chased.

She scooped the ferret up in one hand, sat at Myka's computer before she could lose courage, and clicked "Send." Then, without looking back, she closed out of the account Myka had set up for her, locked the ferret back up, and left for the Warehouse to see if Claudia needed help.

\---

The sound of laughter alerted her to Pete and Myka's return to Leena's late that night. Pete went upstairs immediately after shouting a quick "hey" to Helena, but Myka stayed downstairs, sitting in the chair next to where Helena was seated.

"Hi there," Myka said.

"It's good to see you again," she replied. "How was the funeral?"

"It was... it was nice. Kind of strange to say that about a funeral, but it was nice. It was a good thing they had it outside; so many people showed up that they'd have had to start turning people away if they'd had it indoors. Did you know she became a teacher? So many of her old students were there. And they all said what wonderful stories she told about history, how she'd take objects from history and use them as jumping-off points for study. No guessing where she got that idea from."

Helena smiled, but Myka's face fell. Before Helena could think of something to say, Myka asked "What's wrong? You look worried."

Could she tell? Could sweet, trusting, lovely Myka actually _tell_ that Helena had been up to something during her absence? She didn't know what to say. "I--"

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't think about what it'd be like for you being alone in here while we were gone, after spending so long being bronzed," Myka interrupted, and Helena exhaled a long breath. This was different. This she could manage.

And this time, before she could say anything, Myka leaned toward Helena and touched her shoulder, and the next thing either of them knew, they were standing up and hugging. They both heard the book Helena had been reading drop to the floor, and neither of them cared. Helena buried her face in the crook of Myka's neck and breathed deeply in, as if she could find some kind of absolution in her touch.

They stayed like that, silently swaying, for several minutes, and didn't budge when they heard the door beside them open slightly and then close again. They had to separate eventually, though, and the sound of that door was in both their minds as they bade each other good night.

\---

When Myka came downstairs the next morning, the kitchen table was full of breakfast food.

"Good morning!" Helena said, before Myka could react to more than the smell of the food.

"Morning." Myka paused, and looked around. "You've been busy."

"Indeed I have. I woke up too early this morning and knew I wouldn't get back to sleep, so I figured I'd return your favors."

"Thank you! You really didn't have to do all this," Myka said, looking at the spread of food. "It looks like you used everything breakfast-y in the kitchen."

"Not _everything_. I left a banana."

Myka laughed, and mentally inventoried the table. "I didn't know you knew how to make French toast."

"I didn't, but Leena's recipe book does. And I watched you make it on Wednesday morning. It was actually rather simple. Now _that_," she said, gesturing to the coffee cake, "that was a great deal more difficult."

"How is it harder? It came from a mix!"

"It would have been easier had I remembered to follow the directions for baking at high altitude."

Myka smiled. "Artie says Leena ruined three cakes that way before she realized we count as high altitude."

"Thankfully, I only ruined one of these, and an omelet. But at any rate, breakfast is served," Helena said, bowing at Myka and gesturing to the dining chairs.

"Why, thank you, milady," Myka replied, matching Helena's tone.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, each taking some of each food.

"Mmm... I like this stuff," Myka said. "What is it?"

"It's called kedgeree. It has some of the fish that's leftover from Thursday, rice, parsley, eggs, curry powder... I used to make it for Christina for breakfast when I was at home. It was one of her favorites."

"Oh. I can see why."

"Thank you. Generally we had servants to cook for us, but I liked to do it myself from time to time. It's good to know I haven't lost my touch."

There was a moment of silence, and then Myka started talking again. "Tell me about her. About Christina. I mean, if you want to, of course. I understand if you'd rather not talk about her."

Helena closed her eyes for a second. "No, it's all right. I think it's only right that someone else should know about her. She had my eyes and hair, and her father's sense of humor, and when she laughed, you had to laugh with her. She made whole cities for her dolls; she would take whatever she could from throughout the house, and in her mind they became streets and shops. Her favorite color was purple. My... my proudest moment as a mother was hearing her tell one of her cousins that she was going to grow up and tell stories, just like her mummy. She was nine years old, and beginning to ask about her father."

"She didn't know him?"

"No, and neither did I, really. I met him in Paris searching for King George III's wig. We spent about two weeks together while my partner and I looked for it."

"What was the wig doing in Paris?"

"What was Cinderella's knife doing in Wisconsin?"

"Good point."

"At any rate, I realized I was going to have Christina shortly after we returned. Henri was a fine man, but he wouldn't have made a good father. We continued to correspond, and we both agreed that it would be better if I raised Christina on my own. I had the money and the resources, after all. We did keep in touch, sporadically, and I sent him pictures and updates. One of the reasons I sent her to see her cousins in Paris was so she could meet him, since she'd been asking to do so."

"Do you ever wish you'd married him?" Myka was getting truly personal now, but Helena didn't mind as much as she had expected.

"No, not particularly. He wasn't really the type for marriage, and if I were to spend the rest of my life with one person, it probably wouldn't be a man."

Helena looked up at Myka's face, gauging her reaction to the admission, and was pleasantly surprised to see her smile across the table. Myka looked a bit surprised, but mostly hopeful. Helena felt herself warm. She knew this feeling, but had nearly forgotten it during her century of blankness. She was just about to find something to say when they heard the door open, and they both jumped back. Once again, Pete had interrupted them.

"Come on in," Myka said, a bit too loudly. "H.G. made breakfast this morning and there's enough for everyone."

And Pete came on in, and sat, and remained completely obvious to the conversation that had happened just a few minutes before. The moment had been broken.

\---

By Helena's reckoning, the boys she'd sent to unearth Warehouse 2 should be arriving any day now. If she were going to do anything, she would have to do it very soon.

They didn't get the chance to talk to each other in private until late that night. Helena had spent far too long for someone of her nature trying to work up the courage to knock on Myka's door when she heard a knock herself.

Myka stood in the hallway, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt much too large for her. Her hair was messy and she was barefoot. Obviously she had tried and failed to fall asleep.

"I think we have to finish that conversation we were having at breakfast," Myka said, as Helena closed the door behind her.

"Good idea. Do you want to--"

Helena couldn't continue, not with Myka's fingers touching her cheek. Not with Myka's lips on the corner of her mouth. Helena leaned into the embrace, and after a long moment Myka pulled away.

"God, it's been so long since I've kissed a woman," she whispered. And then Helena had to kiss her back, hard. Myka's mouth opened and Helena tasted her lower lip. Just as their tongues started to join the mix, it was Helena's turn to pull back.

"I daresay my record trumps yours," she replied, took a breath as Myka smiled, and went back to the more important work of getting as close to Myka's delectable mouth as possible.

Their lips were everywhere: on lips, on cheeks, on necks. Their hands were everywhere: on shoulders, on faces, on backs. The muted sounds Myka was making were a source of pleasure all their own, and Helena added her voice to the mix as Myka reached a hand up the back of her shirt, and if she didn't know they needed a good night's sleep for tomorrow, she'd --

Tomorrow.

She couldn't continue this tonight, or at all, even though she desperately wanted to.

She pulled abruptly away, eliciting a squeak of protest from Myka.

"No," Myka said after she pulled herself back together. "I get it. It's too much, too fast."

Yes, it was that too. And she would let Myka believe that it was the only reason, because the alternative meant that Myka would hate her a day too soon.

"You're right."

"Never on the first date."

"Absolutely."

They stood just barely apart from one another, not quite touching, for long enough for each to capture the other in her memory.

"It was good, though," Myka said.

"Very."

"Uh... see you tomorrow?"

"I'll be here."

With that assurance, Myka stumbled out of Helena's room.

If she could contact the people she'd sent to Egypt and tell them to go back, she would have, but it was too late for that. It was too late for anything other than the plan she had set in motion so long ago, and for the first time she truly regretted it. And if it was going to have to end like this, if it was going to have to end with Myka hating her for her betrayal, at least this way Helena would suffer equally knowing what she could have had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. Thank you to everybody who supported me through writing this.
> 
> (Also, the sign Pete's niece is making in the photo? It's ASL for "[cheese,](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/c/cheese.htm)" in case you were wondering.)


End file.
